Re:Hero
by Lord Soloxor
Summary: The world's most powerful man fled before the wrath of the golden fool. As he runs scared before the adolescent god, an unlikely ally extends her unseen hand in adoration of the world's greatest hero. Lost and adrift in an interdimensional backwater, Eidolon must come to terms with his past, his present, and his future if he's ever to reclaim his title of "Hero."


_Re:Hero_

 _Shuffle 1.1_

 _Scion spoke for the second time._

 _Four words, barely audible._

" _ **You needed worthy opponents."**_

 _It took time to sink in._

 _Eidolon let his hand drop to his side._

 _He turned the sounds around in his head, trying to convince himself of a different configuration, convince himself he had heard wrong._

 _But he hadn't. It dawned on Eidolon. He has Contessa's power._

 _How many years did it cost Scion to use it?_

 _Not enough, he was convinced. Scion had defeated him._

 _Scion raised a hand, and Eidolon didn't move. Glaistig Uaine was fleeing._

 _Scion fired the lethal blast._

Eidolon closed his eyes, and sighed, a heavy, world-weary sound. He reclined in his seat and brought a hand to his mask. The recording equipment in his armor had captured every moment of his failure and he'd taken to playing it on a loop in the quiet hours of the evening,

Better, this way, he figured. Lest he forget, and all that shit.

A beat.

"Fuck Scion."

"Fuck Contessa."

"Fuck me."

" _ **You needed worthy opponents."**_ It was quiet, almost nonchalant. An afterthought.

He winced and switched his mask off for the evening. The emerald green lights, LEDs, faded, and Eidolon stewed in the darkness of his hood.

The world's most powerful man had taken to brooding in recent months. It didn't suit one such as him he acknowledged, however, how was one supposed to react to the realization that he'd created his own worst enemy?

Unintentionally or not, he'd created the Endbringers, unstoppable engines of destruction. Looking back, he realized the reason they'd never been "beatable" is because deep down he'd enjoyed cutting loose and fighting the beasts. Defeating the Endbringers would've "lessened" his enjoyment. Like lesser A.I, or an evil genie, his shard had taken unconscious desires literally, and cursed the world with the results.

Eidolon would have laughed had it not been so tragic.

As it was, the shock of the epiphany had nearly done him in. In the face of Scion's oncoming "stilling" wave, his power had handily supplied the same kind of dimensional travel shard which he'd used to great effect when fighting the golden man. Eidolon sidestepped the beam through dimensions, like one would dodge a haymaker, turned, and ran. He'd fled the battlefield like a coward, and just kept going.

He remembered fear, he remembered anguish, he remembered frustration.

Eidolon remembered **LOVE**.

Due to the nature of his shard as something of a deviant case, Eidolon was privy to certain knowledge he was sure the entities had never intended get out. Things like the Cycle were common knowledge at Cauldron, but of the preparations for that cycle they'd had mostly vague theories. He knew of the dimensional lock. Something had accosted him between dimensions, at the edge of the dimensional lock the entities had placed around a linked cluster of alternate Earths. Spectral hands had (caressed?) gripped him in an unbreakable pull through dimensions, drained his power, and sent him spiraling into an unknown, alternate earth.

And now he was here.

More accurately, Eidolon was in Lugnica, capital city of the Dragon's Kingdom of Lugnica. Yeah. Outside of the bounds of the entities' Cycle, alternate earths rapidly switched from near copies of one another to bizarre warped images. From the research he'd engaged in after his arrival, everything about this world from culture to even geography was different except for, oddly enough, the spoken language English.

His effectiveness in this world was limited. The well of his power was entirely drained upon his arrival by some unknown entity. The High Priest was asleep in its temple and worshippers were for the most part barred.

 _The Faerie Queen would've been proud._ He scoffed.

The analogy only worked to a point. It was more like his power had been set to ultra-low power "emergency" mode. He could access three powers of his agent's choosing. The High Priest could only handle three weak powers in the temple at once, and it wasn't going to let the temple muck up its optimal power choices. Whereas before even when he'd thought he was "weak" he'd been strong enough to tussle with Endbringers, now he wouldn't even measure on the same scale. Telekinesis was limited to a few pounds, Pyrokinesis was limited to weak fireballs, etc. Reality warping powers were entirely barred to him. Thinker and Tinker powers were among his strongest assets in this world, in an unexpected role reversal from his previous life. Until he gathered enough energy, he was trapped where he was, and vastly lessened.

When the Endbringers and Scion had been a concern, he'd have been worried, or rather, nigh apoplectic about his critical loss of power. In Lugnica, however, none of that bothered him overly much.

He was literally universes away from his problems, the problems he'd caused, and every ounce of responsibility he'd once borne for those problems.

As they say, he'd really stepped in it this time. The metaphor fell apart when Eidolon simply changed shoes.

This world he'd ended up in was a simple one, for the most part. It seemed to be firmly entrenched in something he'd have perceived to be a "fantasy world" culture. Eidolon has summed it up in an earlier statement as "middle ages reenactment meets middle ages meets actual fantasy world." There were elves, there were witches, there were mages. The country was ruled by a monarch, though there'd been some sort of kerfuffle in that area since he'd arrived.

He led a solitary existence. Earth Bet had had strict rules about manufacturing money and gold using powers, or gaming the system using thinker powers. The kingdom of Lugnica had no such rules barring thinker powers. Eidolon bet on horse races. He played chess for money. He cheated at card games and won handily. Come to think of it, he led a downright aristocratic lifestyle.

At any rate, he wasn't facing tough times. He wasn't fighting in pitched battles for the fate of the world. The most Eidolon had to worry about was taxes and Scion hunting him down for the fun of it. His time in this world had been something of a vacation, and to a man who'd never experienced many of those, it was a novel experience.

 _But you're not happy._

On Earth Bet, he'd been Eidolon, the leader of the Houston Protectorate for most of his life, and the world's most powerful man. He'd rescued beautiful women from vile villains. He'd fought gods and monsters and lived to tell the tale. He'd been a superhero.

In Lugnica, he was Eidolon, eccentric, wealthy recluse with absurd luck at the horse races and a minor talent for magic of all sorts, with a penchant for drinking heavily, and with a sour temper. He was a slob who kept to his home. He was a layabout who ate and drank and shat and pissed and slept and looked to be content with himself. He'd gone to seed, in other words.

Eidolon was drunk, and when he got drunk he got maudlin.

He stood, swaying on his feet, and nearly tipped over. The rich carpet of his room was a mess of wine bottles, flagons of beer, and smelled like death. The chamber pot hadn't been emptied today, or yesterday, apparently. His bed was a mess of silken sheets which didn't appear to have been washed in some time.

Tracking a slow, stepwise path from his oaken desk to his bed, Eidolon removed his mask, tossed it somewhere in the general vicinity of the nightstand, and collapsed like a puppet with its strings cut onto the bed. Still dressed in his emerald green robes, Eidolon drooled in his sleep, likely further ruining the sheets. He tossed and turned. He dreamed of a formless figure with silver-hair he could not outrun.

All in all, he was quite the pathetic sight.

And that was certainly something, coming from the poor thief looking in on him from his window.

She was short, blonde, and had the general look of a wastrel about her. A short sword swung lazily from her waist, and she wore it with the confidence of someone who knew how to use it. She cut quite the figure, framed by moonlight in the act of breaking and entering. Rather, just entering. The man apparently favored sleeping with his window open, so he didn't stew in his own smell.

While it was a clever idea in its own right, the thief held her nose as she crept across the room; It really did stink to high heaven in there. She snuck a glance under the man's hood and saw a wreck of a man with sunken eyes, a hallowed visage, and unshaven cheeks. He was out cold, and had no chance of waking up soon, judging from the number of bottles she carefully avoided.

Nor did he have a chance of waking up in a good mood.

While the hangover would be legendary in its own right, the theft of the wizard's mask would likely set him off just as much. It was a good thing she planned to be long gone and returned to the slums by the time that happened. She gingerly snatched up the emerald mask from the floor and stowed it away in a large pouch at her waist.

The thief also fetched a sack of gold sitting out in the open on his desk. She would never let it be said she wasn't opportunistic, after all.

In moments, the blonde thief was out the window and gone. Speeding across city rooftops under the bright light of the moon. Her "Blessing of the Wind" sped her movements, and within the hour she'd made the long trek across the city to the slums.

It was quiet when she approached Rom's place, but she knew the giant would be up, waiting for her to return. He liked to pretend he didn't look out for her, but she knew he considered her to be the granddaughter he'd never had. Rom's house doubled as warehouse out of which he operated as something of a pawn shop. He'd buy anything, under the guise of a legitimate storefront, but everyone in the slums knew most of it was stolen. She'd arranged to meet with her employer tonight and set Rom's place as the location. It was neutral ground, and Rom would act as a third party to ensure she wasn't getting screwed over by any double-dealings.

She approached the door, and knocked.

"For a rat?" Hollered Rom, from behind the door.

"Poison." She replied.

"For a white whale?"

"A Harpoon."

"To the noble dragon lord, we are?"

"Shitbags."

Rom opened the door, and grinned when he saw her. "Felt! Out for a night on the town, are we?"

The old man made for quite a sight. He was of the race of giants, and as such, he stood head and shoulders above normal men. Although he may have been of advanced age, his musculature and physique were that of an enormously powerful man. He had an endearing smile and large, bushy white eyebrows. He was Rom, and the thief, Felt, loved him like the grandfather she'd never known.

"Yep!" She replied cheerfully, swaggering past him and taking a seat at the bar. "Pour me a drink, and I'll give you the tale!"

He did, pouring from a mysterious jug from behind the bar. She drank.

"You watered it down again with milk again, didn't you?" Felt pouted.

"Hey, hey, its too late for a youngster like you to be out drinking." He replied sheepishly, rubbing at the back of his head. "A young lady like you shouldn't be drunk when she leaves to head back home, y'hear me?"

"It's nasty."

"It's all you're gonna get, so quit whining and tell me your tale." Rom said, gruffly.

Felt scowled and pulled Eidolon's mask out of her pouch. She set it on the counter, and Rom picked it up to examine it.

"I stole that from that wizard who's been stirring up the rumor mills around town." Felt smirked proudly.

"Really, lass?" Rom raised one, bushy eyebrow. "That fella whose been makin' a mess of the race bettin' and gambling halls. What's his name…Eido somethin'?"

"Aye, it looks like it but… " He flicked a switch on the mask, and it began to glow a lurid green. "This is definitely his mask by the looks of it, with that glow and all."

" _ **You needed worthy opponents."**_

He flicked the switch again and it turned off.

"Some kind of metia, I'd reckon. Doesn't seem very useful though."

"I know, right?" Felt agreed, holding up both hands and spreading her fingers. "But the lady who hired me said she'd pay ten whole holy coins for it!"

"Damn!" Rom whistled. "She must be pretty wealthy to be throwing that kind of money around."

"Nah," Felt shook her head. "From the way she told it, she's working for someone else. But get this, she wants me to do another job tomorrow! I've got to snatch some trinket off a silver-haired half-elf!"

"A witch-spawn?"

"Yep! I was wary at first, but she said she'd match the price of the mask as well! It was an offer I couldn't refuse."

"Is it too good to be true?" Rom questioned. "Sometimes these kinds of deals can end poorly for you if the employer isn't being honest with you."

"That's why I have you, isn't it?" Felt replied, laughing.

"You're my back-up Rom, to keep things fair, and we're gonna meet here, neutral ground. If she wanted to make a commotion, half the slums would be up in arms in a minute. Everybody loves you around here, Rom!"

Rom wasn't so sure, but he held his breath.

"With this, Rom, one day I can get out of here and make a name for myself as something more than a thief. Maybe as a merchant, or maybe I could buy an inn or something like that. I can get you out of this dump and you can spend the rest of your days in the lap of luxury, how does that sound?"

Rom smiled, wistfully. "It sounds great, lass. It sounds great."

"Tomorrow," Felt grinned. "Our lives change forever!"

 **A/N: I'm thinking this will update once a week, on Thursdays. That will give me time to write** _ **and**_ **make sure everything makes sense from a character/ narrative perspective. Rushing myself beyond that would definitely reduce quality. At any rate, I like this chapter much more than the previous iterations.**


End file.
